Nada's Escape

7- Round-a-bouts.

You can imagine Finley as the sort of young man whose picture you'd use on a war poster: a strong heroic face, steady eyes and brown hair. Now seated behind one of plastic tables of the visiting room I try not to cringe with déjà vu. Haven't I been trapped between a scowling warden and the mild-mannered Finley enough times in the past three years? His benevolent presence is still infuriating, like receiving pity from a snake.

"With wardens listening to your every word it must be hard to find the right ones." He says, layering subtext into each syllable. I can't look him in the eye, for obvious reasons, so I shift my gaze to the black plastic tabletop, contemplating. We can't speak freely in front of the wardens.

After too long without answering I return: "Of course. Plus it's always difficult to know who to trust." He flinches at the 'trust' dagger I throw his way. Huntsmen are never trustworthy.

"I'm sure it is," he replies, "Do you know every time you have a violent incident the wardens try to keep me from seeing you? I had to argue with four wardens before they even let me in the same room as you."

I slump my shoulders. Obviously the wardens are wary about letting me in the same room as Finley, but I didn't think they could outright refuse him anything. A leather band, stamped with some symbol, slides down over his wrist. I follow the movement, wondering if I've seen bracelet before. He too, stares down at the twenty fingers pale across the table.

"I think," I say slowly before stopping to work out exactly what I am thinking, "Um..." I still feel weird after the enthralment. Cold doesn't cling to my muscles like the last time though. This feeling is warm and fizzy, like ginger beer in the sun.

"I wish that enthralment didn't exist," he sighs, "I'm very sorry about that accident earlier. I owe you for that." One of Finley's hands curls into a fist and then unfurls as he speaks. His pointer finger twitches as I scramble for some appropriate response.

I feel like I should be angry, yet I've just noticed that although the fizzy warmth is fading, tiny tingles race their way down my limbs. Fascinated despite myself, I feel them dart down my arms and across the backs of my hands. I swear a tiny spark of light leaves my pinkie finger before I hide both hands beneath the table instead.

I finally get my head back together and manage to fill the silence, "You know what I want. Last night just proves it more than ever." His hands move back towards him as if to remove themselves from the table as mine had and yet they stop on the edge, knuckles and fingertips the only parts visible.

"Boy does it ever," he replies, shaking his head. "I can barely believe that you made it up that ladder. If I were to offer up an escape plan it would not involve anything so reckless." His last sentence slows, like a train coasting so that secret passengers can climb aboard.

"And just what would your escape plan involve?" I throw out the challenge. And just what is his definition of helping me? Coming to visit me more often is not going to cut it. His fingertips turn white with tension against the table.

"Look I've got lots of- I'll try my best..." He stumbles, "I really wish I could tell you everything without somebody misunderstanding." He flicks his hair out of his face in a jerky movement I have not seen from him before. I try to focus on his tense fingertips, not the movement of his head and certainly not the tingles in my own fingers.

"So talk," I glower, impatient with all of Finley's round-a-bouts. The tension of the last few minutes leaves him too quickly. His hands relax, one turning palm up as he leans back in the chair. I think the tingles in my own hands have stopped for the moment. I catch him nodding in my periphery and grit my teeth. Of course, give him an opening to speak and he's as happy as a clam. Finley glances behind me at the warden and frowns.

"Could you give us a second?" he requests and the question is met with stoic silence. I am tempted to turn and see the warden but I keep my attention on the bigger threat before me. I press my hands into a stress ball on the table and beg myself to revise reacting even as Finley places his hands over mine.

Even contemptuous and wary of Finley I am willing to play along if this is part of a ploy to help me escape. If he is just being a dick then perhaps I'll kick him this time. I have a sweet spot picked out right between his legs.